The fifth day of the week doesn't normally hold any special significance but somehow today seems special. There was a light rain last to keep down the dust and there will be a full moon tonight. A troop of acrobats and dramatists came through Riverton this morning advertising their first performance this evening on a meadow near the city wall. The river traffic has been bustling with its typical energy and the news is not only flowing but seems universally good.

The public executions were said to be outstanding this morning with one prisoner winning his freedom by killing the wild targ he was set to fight. An adventuring party returned from the ruins haggard but alive and boasting of finding a new type of metal. As per the usual way of these things, the find was claimed by the nobility; however, this group works for Lord Helsing and he - more so than other nobles - will ensure the metal is used to make new demon fighting weapons. Though, the bulk of them may go to the city guards under the command of William "Thorn" Ashland.

The fall grain harvest has just begun and the smell of fresh bread is wafting through the city. Those who celebrate the Goddess and Green Man (or whatever names they give them) are celebrating the Festival of Fresh Bread this time of year. As night falls the temperature begins to drop but is still warm enough to travel without a cloak.

The Rusty Copper Inn is lively with the evening meal as many people are out in force this evening. If not to stay, then to eat good food and drink fine ale. Magdar the Orc has introduced a new black ale at the Inn and it seems to be a hit. A few that are too young to know his reputation or too foolish to take it into consideration have challenged the old orc to a drinking contest. Few of the challengers are still conscious.

The proprieter, Earl Barnabas, is smiling as he looks over the crowd gathered there.

Sidari is busy working, there are pair of new girls serving tables and she's keeping an eye out for them, no-one except her father had been at the Inn as long as she has. Harvest season is usually busy and today especially so with all the events going on, it looks to remain busy well into the night, with a sigh she guesses she won't be able to get away to see the performers later.

In consolation at least there's few odd types around the common room, Magdar tends to attract adventurous types into the bar, so she's on the lookout for newcomers, maybe someone would finally agree to take her along on an expedition.

Bronn, wrapped in his cloak, is observing the drinking contest from a quiet corner. He never participates; the risk of revealing too much in a drunken state is too high. Bronn catches Sidari's eye and raises his empty tankard.

As she arrives with a fresh one, he points out several haggard looking men to her: "See those men over there? They were part of the delving party that came back today. Looks like they haven't eaten well in a while, and at least one of them is wounded."

He pauses a moment. "Is that really what you want? Adventuring mostly is about being cold, miserable, and hungry, seasoned with being scared and on the edge quite a bit of the time, and, if you're unlucky, being attacked by things best left undescribed or other delvers who want to take a shortcut to riches and take your stuff instead of delving into the ruins themselves."

Bronn takes a sip from the fresh tankards and nods. "This inn is a good place, you know. Hard work, sure, but much more reliable and safe than being out there."

Sidari smiles at Bronn, "So why'd you do it then? I talk to people, word is that your obsessed with the ruins, out there every chance you get."She's not really expecting an answer, she's wheedled at Bronn a few times before and he's always been closed off about his past."Maybe you should let me go with you sometime, I'll stay out of trouble, do what I'm told. Might scare me off completely" she laughs.

Ever the urbanite, Baxton nonetheless makes a habit of being something of a civic nomad; although he spends most of his time in the city (be it this one in particular or any other) he's never gotten around to settling down and acquiring any sort of property. It just isn't his nature. Sooner or later there always comes the day he catches a restless itch to move on to other things: one city to another; one inn onto the next. Today is one such day.

With a bright smile, Baxton opens the door to the inn and steps inside. As he finds a seat amidst the many murmurs, Baxton overhears of the recent expedition out to the ruins. A man—a pech—of the city, such adventures have traditionally never been to his taste. But at such times and in such atmospheres as this he often thinks of the great many lost treasures that must be out there, forgotten or not, and finds himself wondering how unsuited to the work he truly is.

Sidari leaves Bronn with his drink and spies a newcomer, and since if he were local she'd have seen him before, that makes him interesting."Hello sir, what can I get you, a pint of Black, it's the favourite of the day?"Her eyes betray her curiosity, darting across his diminutive form, noting weapons, armour and other tools - is he a Delver, a traveller or just a common thief she wonders...

Baxton jumps at Sidari's words. "Oh! Well—that depends—what's the favorite of the day—ah! Right. I—I'll have a pint. A black! pint! Thatis, a black pint! I'll have a black pint."

As the order is delivered there's a clear look of desperate panic in his eyes that only relaxes after the last word comes tumbling out. He promptly bows his head to scratch an imaginary and entirely fictitious itch.

Hmmm, maybe I should do exactly that, Bronn thinks as Sidari leaves his table to greet the newcomer. A nice, slow, dull delve, not too deep, nothing dangerous, but we'll stack up extra on iron rations instead of real food and go skimpy on the firewood. Cold and hungry, and no excitement.

He waves over to Earl, the inkeep, and discusses the plan with him in a low voice. Surely, he'd be all for driving the adventure bug out of his adopted daughter.

The common room of the inn erupts in cheers as Magdar downs another pint of the black. The last remaining challenger staggers about halfway through his mug and collapses to the floor unconscious. Magdar snatches the ale out of the air, and drinks it down before slamming the mug on the table. He then bends over and rolls the lad onto his side before standing, belching, and throwing his hands up in victory.

Sidari weaves her way through the crowds, and retrieves a pint of Black ale for the odd little fellow. Passing it over with a friendly smile."So, I've not seen you before, are you new in town, or did your regular place get a bit stale?"

Baxton accepts the drink with a nod in thanks and takes a sip of the pint, only to cough at its strength. "Yes—well, no, I'm no stranger to these parts. Let's just say the bed at my last inn started getting a bit too familiar, eh? Too comfortable for comfort, if you will."

However reckless or insensible, the idea's now planted in his mind; he's never going to find rest at this point until the train of thought is brought to its end. Casually he asks without a hint of irony, "You think I seem suited for that line work? Be honest now. Some time outside the city might do me well, I think."

"You look like you can handle yourself, perhaps a word with Bronn over there, he's quick to point out the bad, but something keeps drawing him back out there."Sidari is slightly disappointed that Baxton didn't reveal himself as an expert in the field, but doesn't let her smile slip."Anyway, I need to keep working, I think one of my wards is getting a little too attached to that guardsman over there. If you do speak to Bronn put in a good word for me."Sidari heads away to extricate one of the new barmaids from the guardsman's lap.

In the midst of the revelry a guardsman who is obviously on-duty (and none to happy about it) walks in and calls for attention. Magdar repeats the request in his deep basso voice and the roar dulls to something manageable.

"To all assembled, be it known, that the following is posted by the authority of the City Guard and was duly approved by the Guard Commander." He then places several wanted posters on the wall by the bar and walks out. He no sooner turns than several people crowd over to read them. One man pipes up, "You'd think ol' Thorn would be tired of chasing petty theft by now. Though, I have to admit that whoever stole the jewels from Madame Toussaude had balls. Her apartments are above the third floor of a merchant's shop down on Copper Street. She's supposed to be the lover of some minor noble. Bet he's leaning on ol' Thorn to find the pretty sparkles."

The conversation continues; however, Baxton feels the tug of memory: a dark roof, a simple lock and the smell of copper. The jewels were small and set in a simple copper necklace with a silver accent.

"You aren't my mother, Sidari," says the new barmaid. Nevertheless, she gets up and heads back to work.

The thought of the going to the ruins pulls at Bronn again. Something ... just out of his grasp seems to urge him to return.